The Seer by LWC
by ladywildcow
Summary: Sherlock is still presumed dead. In his need to discover if Moriarty really died, he hires a highly-intelligent government level psychic to locate him. Whilst remote-viewing, Sasha Huntley has an intimate vision of her and Sherlock.


**THE SEER by LWC**

**As the creator of Sherlock Holmes, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, was also a huge supporter of spiritualism and a member of The Ghost Club, I thought I would write a story combining the two. (A Seer is a psychic or a clairvoyant)**

**I have invented a female character called Sasha Huntley and thrown this highly intelligent woman in the path of Sherlock. Best of luck to her! Please Review and let me know if you'd like to read more. Enjoy!**

Sasha Huntley sat at a round table in a small dark room lit only by candlelight. In her hands she held a watch. Dark red curtains were drawn and an antique clock ticked-tocked hypnotically on a mantelpiece. She breathed slowly in and out and imagined her mind as cloud, reaching out as far out as it could – leaving the confines of her London flat and expanding outwards – going where it needed to go. In this case, a search and locate job she was being highly paid for. Sasha was always highly paid. She was also always in demand and her new client was very demanding.

Within moments of reaching her trance state, images leapt into her mind – the blurred image of a man in a crown; the same man standing by a poolside, followed by the dark haired man shoving a gun into his mouth. Then the gun going off. The images repeated again and again but she could not clearly see the man's face.

Sasha clutched the watch tightly as feelings of cold rage and ruthlessness emanated from it. She felt the insanity of over-intelligent amoral mind spinning a web of deceit and death as her heart began to pound and her forehead began to sweat. Every fibre of her being wanted to stop – to drop the watch and run out of the room….. but Sasha continued. She had never come across such a powerfully deranged mind before. It was overwhelming.

Suddenly, images of a thousand crimes flashed across her mind followed by a feeling of total obsession with a man – the man. Sherlock Holmes - the man who had sought her help. The dead fake genius. The very demanding dead, fake genius.

Sasha concentrated hard and tried to force the images to settle. Gradually, the images slowed down and began to solidify. The man with the gun was on an island – sipping a drink but this image was not from the past but in the present. She recognised his face. Who didn't recognise the face of the man who was found innocent of the biggest and most audacious crimes of the century? Jim Moriarty. The same Jim Moriarty who was found dead on a rooftop after blowing his brains out.

As she observed him, Sasha looked around to see if she could put a name to the island he was on – if there were any hotels or signs that could pin-point him but there was nothing. As she looked at him, his face changed…

….as if he was sensing her!

Shit!

Sasha's heart pounded. She wanted to stop but she was determined to do her job. She had never backed down and she wouldn't start now. On one level it was intriguing. In all the years of doing this kind of work she had never come across this.

Was he actually sensing her?

Did he know she was remotely viewing him from a room in London? She took her mind closer to his face…and his eyes turned directly at her position….and he smiled. He actually smiled at her!

Sasha gasped and instantly lost sight of the image of Moriarty. Her mind went blank and there was nothing. She tried to regain a link – concentrating and expanding her mind as far and wide as she could. Nothing. She tried again and this time something else happened….something else that had never happened to her before.

She saw herself in the room she was now sitting. Her face was pressed against the wall by a man pushing hard against her back. His mouth was clamped down hard on her neck before roughly spinning her to face him…but Sasha could not see who it was. She suddenly felt her hair being gripped and her neck pulled back. As she opened her mouth to protest he aggressively kissed her. Images of her being passionately kissed flashed through her mind….and then she saw the face of the man….It was the face of Sherlock Holmes. Sasha gasped and leapt up to her feet.

She ran over to the curtain and opened them. She looked down at the watch in her hand and saw there was blood. She had gripped the watch so hard she had cut herself, leaving a large groove in her flesh.

As she stared at the blood on her hand, feelings and images of the kiss swirled through her mind. That was not a vision. It was more like an invasion and she didn't like it one little bit. It was as if someone had forced an image into her mind and made her physically experience it.

She walked over to a side table and opened a drawer. She took out a large sheet of paper and an ink pen and began to draw an image.

"Please sit down, Mr Holmes," Sasha said in her upper-class accent, gesturing with her hand to a large, comfortable antique chair. Sasha lived in a large, two-bedroom Victorian flat in Chelsea, near to the King's Road. The flat had a much-loved, lived in feeling to it. There were book shelves packed with leather-bound books and dozens of paintings and pictures covered the wall. There was smell of fresh lilies in the air and the soft, soothing music of Mozart played gently in the background. It was exquisitely and expensively decorated.

"Sherlock," the tall man replied matter-of-factly as he swept over to the chair, taking off his hat and coat and sitting down. He looked around the room, his penetrating blue eyes observing everything. He noticed there was a door to the left and deduced that was the room where she worked. He looked at the black dress she was wearing, her tied back hair and high heels and asked.

"How was Paris and how is your long-lost brother?" he asked in his deep, melodic voice as he turned his eyes towards her and crossed his legs. Sasha looked at him and smiled. Wow…he really was good. She knew his reputation for lightning fast deductions but that was extraordinary.

She had read all the headlines and stories about him. Yes, the media had dragged his name through the mud - calling him a fraud and a liar - but after his 'suicide' and the death of Moriarty there was no longer any sport to be had and so their knives turned in another direction. Being in his presence, with his dark hair, handsome pale face and piercing eyes, she felt a mixture of feelings. Some she was surprised by.

"Paris is Paris and he is very well, thank you. How is Dr Watson? Followed him to the park today?" Sasha asked softly and smirked "Coffee?"

Sherlock was quiet for a moment. He looked at her and frowned very slightly as she turned her back on him and walked over to the table where the silver coffee pot was waiting.

"Yes, I did." He replied flatly and paused for another moment. "Two sugars. Thank you."

"Are you not going to ask me how I know?" Sasha asked with a slight air of mischief as she poured two coffees.

Sherlock leaned back and inhaled. "I suppose you'll tell me that you sensed it," he said with a condescending air.

Sasha walked over to Sherlock and handed him his coffee. His blue eyes glanced over her hand, noticing a plaster and accepted the cup. She smiled: "Something like that". Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned his attention to her hand.

"A fresh injury, " Sherlock said. "Yesterday afternoon?"

Sasha sat down opposite him on an identical chair and looked at her plaster. A memory of being pressed against the wall swept through her mind and she took a quick sip of her coffee.

"err…yes. Work injury, "she said softly, avoiding looking at him for a moment before smiling at him.

"Whilst holding the watch?" He asked and Sasha realised just how beautiful his voice was. It was as if a cello had decided to live out its life in his chest and each word and sentence was like an exquisite composition.

"Yes," she answered. "Whilst holding the watch," she whispered and rubbed the plaster. She then reached over to the table next to her, picked up the watch and tossed it over to him. "Thank you. I can't say it was the best experience of my life."

"I see, "he said in his deep voice and took a sip of his coffee.

Sasha had a flash back to how uncomfortable she felt about having her mind invaded. She stood up suddenly and walked quickly over to the other side of the room.

"It was fruitful, however, as there was one outstanding image," Sasha said, taking her drawing out from the drawer, taking a breath and trying to compose herself.

She walked over to Sherlock and handed it to him. Sherlock scrutinised the image and looked up at her. She noticed his mouth and saw how broad and sensual it was. She had a flash back to the image of him kissing and she looked away.

"It's of Jim Moriarty, " Sasha whispered. "He is very much alive."

"Where is this?" Sherlock asked curtly. "Any further details? Anything else?" He demanded, raising his voice slightly.

Sasha turned her back and walked back to her chair and sat down. She paused a moment before she started.

"Something strange did happen," she said and then paused before continuing.

:"I've worked for many clients over many years but I have never had such a feeling before. It was as if he could actually see me," Sasha said more softly, her mind drifting.

"So?" Sherlock said coldly. Sasha looked over at him and thought his eyes seemed darker – angrier.

Sasha took a deep breath. "And so…. the image of him went."

Sherlock put the picture down, stood up and paced up and down.

"And nothing else?" Sherlock demanded, loudly inhaling.

"No…nothing else," Sasha lied.

Sherlock grabbed the picture and looked at it closely.

"You don't strike me as a liar, Miss Huntley." Sherlock said, turning in Sasha's direction and walking over to her.

Sasha slowly stood up and folded her arms. She raised her eyebrows and looked directly at Sherlock. Her stance challenging his last comment. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock walked right up to her and look down into her eyes. She was overwhelming aware of his closeness and the anger he was exuding.

"Clearly you are lying about something. Lack of eye contact, nervousness, a two second pause before replying - two second pauses are always a dead giveaway. Just long enough for the mind to make a decision to tell a lie. Not long enough for an ordinary mind to notice but an eternity for me, I assure you."

Sherlock maintained constant eye contact with Sasha, who looked up at him with large, green eyes, framed by her blonde hair. Her eyes narrowed and her heart began to thump in her chest.

Sasha pointed a finger up at him but he took it in his hand and swiftly lowered it. He continued: " So, you are either a complete fraud and have invented this image, which wouldn't be hard considering who I am and my connection with Moriarty or…. you are leaving something out," Sasha looked him in the eye angrily. "I hope it's the latter."

"I haven't invented anything, Mr Holmes," Sasha said coldly.

"Sherlock"

"I suddenly prefer Mr Holmes," Sasha said with ice. "How dare you…"

"Miss Huntley,I have the lowest regard for cheap cold reading tricks most psychics use to con people out of their money but I know of your reputation. I know British Intelligence call on your services and, on the whole, they don't waste their time. You can apparently remote view on anyone anywhere in the world. Psychic spying…whatever next? Tut tut….what a naughty government. If I wasn't pretending to be dead, I would really have to have words with my brother."

Sasha opened her mouth to say something but Sherlock continued.

"According to your files you are one of the very best psychometrists in the world. You can hold any object and tell everything about anyone that has ever owned or touched it. I try and keep an open mind about such things. Being too sceptical is as bad as being too gullible."

Sasha attempting to say something but Sherlock still continued.

"So, I locate you, hire your services, give you a watch and tell you nothing at all about it. You have since kindly informed me that Moriarty – yes, it was his watch- is alive and well and wearing some kind of dreadful beach shirt whilst drinking, by the looks of it, a blue cocktail that probably has a ludicrous name like a flaming turtle….or possibly the jumping Sherlock…"

Sasha tried to speak once again.

"Clearly something you don't want me to know. Something you think I don't need to know or something you think would distress or offend me. Something that caused you to squeeze your hand so hard that it actually cut your skin."

He took her injured hand and turned it palm up. The touch of his hand made her gasp slightly. She tried to pull her hand back but he kept hold of it and was now holding both her hands.

"I want to know why you cut your hand. What was it that caused you to clutch his watch so violently?" Sherlock demanded, raising his voice. "Tell me!".

Sasha took a deep breath and bit her lip. She tried to remove her hands but he wouldn't let go.

"Look," she whispered.

"Go on…" Sherlock said coldly.

"There was something else but….it's not…."

"Don't say it's not important, Everything…do you understand everything is important. It is not for you to decide what is or what is not important, do you understand?"

Sasha took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling.

"Ok…" She said breathing out.

"I was viewing Moriarty on the beach. It felt as though he was looking right back and I mean right back at me. He smiled and then I lost my connection."

"And then something else happened." Sherlock said. "Tell me".

"….the image I saw…was..of me."

"Of you?"

"Yes, of me and…."

"Go on…"

"and…of you."

Sherlock scrutinised her face. "Of us?"

"Yes," Sasha said and lowered her eyes.

There was a pause.

"And…."

"It happened in the room where I work. Over there…." Sasha pointed to the door. "It was dark and I felt….I felt my face being pushed into the wall."

"By whom?"

"….by you," Sasha said slowly.

"Tell me everything and leave nothing out."

Sasha tried to remove her hands from Sherlock but his grip was too firm.

"I felt my body pushed against the wall. A man was sucking or biting my neck. He then turned me around and aggressively kissed me and pushed me into the wall. The man was you."

Sherlock was quiet.

"How can you explain this?"

"I can't."

Sherlock let go of her hand and walked back to his chair.

He said down and rested his chin on his fingers.

"This happened after you thought Moriarty had seen you?" Sherlock asked.

Sasha nodded. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Sasha sensed not to say anything.

Suddenly, Sherlock leapt to his feet. "Show me the room."

"What?"

"Show me the room where it happened."

"I don't let people in there," Sasha protested.

"I am not 'people'" Sherlock said as he walked over the door and let himself in.

Sasha followed after him, trying to protest but it was futile.

Sherlock swept into the room and looked around, scanning everything intensely.

"Which wall?" Sherlock demanded.

Sasha, who was now standing next to him, pointed over to the opposite wall.

"Go over there," Sherlock ordered.

"What…why?" Sasha protested,

"Please don't argue with me. It will be just easier if you do I as I say" Sherlock said.

"I don't like being ordered what to do in my own home, Mr Holmes"

"Miss Huntley, you don't strike me as the complaining type. Don't start now. Please, would you go over to the wall."

Sasha glared at Sherlock and walked briskly over to the wall and turned and faced Sherlock.

"Face the wall," he ordered.

"I beg your pardon?" Sasha said.

"Face the wall," Sherlock said in his most commanding voice.

Sasha took another breath and turned to face the wall.

"Is that the place it happened?" Sherlock asked and Sasha nodded.

Sherlock looked around the room. He touched the table and looked at the wall.

"It's a taunt," Sherlock said. "It's a taunt from Moriarty. It's the only explanation…..and it explains so much about him. He's like a highly intelligent predator. His skill for survival is so honed… so practiced that he can sense any eyes on him…even remote eyes."

Sherlock began to walk over to Sasha. "As you sensed him, he sensed you and he also sensed who asked you to find him …..to find out if he is really was dead."

Sherlock walked closer towards Sasha.

"….and now I know he's alive," he whispered.

He stood behind Sasha and brought his mouth close to her left ear. He leaned forward and put his arms either side of Sasha's shoulders and then brought his mouth even closer.

"And now he knows I am alive too," he whispered.

Sasha felt the warmth of his breath on her ear and stifled a gentle moan.

"It's all part of his game,…." He whispered.

Sasha closed her eyes and felt her heart pounding as his voice began to mesmerise her.

"And the game is becoming very, very interesting…" Sherlock whispered and pulled the hair away from the left side of her neck.

"Was it this side?" Sherlock whispered and Sasha softly nodded as she bit her lip.

"Everything Moriarty says and does has a meaning and a message…"Sasha felt her hair being pulled back gently.

"We are similar in one way. We are both prepared to do what ordinary people won't or can't do. Your vision was a message for me….it's an instruction. "

"..instruction…?" Sasha whispered.

"Yes," Sherlock said as he began to press his body in hers. "If you want to find me, do as I say..."

Sherlock plunged his mouth down onto Sasha's neck and started sucking hard. Sasha moaned loudly as he pushed her into the wall, pressing his body hard against her. Sasha struggled to move but Sherlock effortlessly held her in place. The image she had seen yesterday was now happening.

Suddenly, Sherlock spun Sasha around. She looked up into his piercing blue eyes before he pulled her to him into a hard, aggressive kiss. His mouth dominated hers and she found her head swimming. He put his arms around her, pulling her to him into a tight embrace and kissed her passionately. His kiss went deeper and harder and Sasha moaned at the intensity.

Then, he let her go and placed Moriarty's watch in her hand.

"Now, Sasha, you will go and find him again ," Sherlock grinned wickedly at her as she tried to come to her senses.

He then turned on his heel and walked out the room, saying: "The game, Sasha,….is on!"

End of part one.

What will Moriarty's next instruction be?


End file.
